Carousel Horses
by St.MONSTER
Summary: -- crawling through his window at one thirty in the morning, smelling like nicotine and borrowing his shower, this was life for us. Soriku.


St. says:

I've been told countless times I have a very confusing style of writing. I tried really hard to make this go together properly and to make it interesting, but obviously I'm pretty ameteur at this whole writing business. So, there you have it. I don't even have a beta because… well, because my friends aren't awesome, so please try not to be offended by the many horrible mistakes.

This is written in a style suggesting there will be chaptres, but free time is a cruel joke lately and I'm not even sure it's worth it, what with how well I don't write and everything. Consider it a oneshot for now. It will be really slow, but it's mostly an introduction and as such, is mostly uninteresting, painfully short, and probably does not get across the points I mean for it to.

Ahh… I'm not really making sense. Just… don't feel the need to review, because if another chaptre gets written, it's going up anyway. Feel free not to read it if you don't want to, just skip the link :D You're open to tell me it hurts your eyes to read this and to please stop the agony now or that I'm an absolute GOD and worship me at my online feet.

…well, anyway. Onto the….

Just go.

* * *

**Carousel Horses**

_-- crawling through his window at one thirty in the morning, smelling like nicotine and borrowing his shower, this was life for us._

* * *

a.

There was no demand for reaction at this point in the day (apparently 9.45 at night and only four of us left on the curb in front of the arcade), which suited me just fine.

I probably should have headed home forty minutes ago, but the concept of time has always eluded me; and anyway I'm a scientific mind, so the concept of relativity overpowers my need to be cooperative. My mum wouldn't mind much anyway, now that it was spring and nine thirty at night no longer meant it had already been dark for six hours. And anyway, there were always the excuses.

I'm good at excuses

Tidus looked at me from three heads down and released some smoke in my general direction. "Oi, Sora," he decided was a sufficient way to politely grab my attention. He waited the small eternity it took to finally face him and said, "Shouldn't you be off soon?"

Yes, this is true, Tidus. I nodded my head deftly and reached between my hunched knees for the handle of my backpack, stood up and yawned while Selphie next to me pulled the hem of my khaki shorts. "Be careful," came her sweet farewell with a smile up at me. I smiled down at her for being so cautious and waved to Kairi and Tidus before I turned off down the road.

It should probably be mentioned that I walk very slowly. Not out of civil disrespect for curfews and the darkness warning me to get home, but because I look at things. There's really no logical reason for looking at scenery I've observed this way everyday for years now, because I know everything about it already, so obviously it's just part of my charm.

Obviously.

Somehow though, even with having memorised the scenery around me and with knowing my route home practically blind, I managed to get lost. Which was just fabulous, and at first wasn't a big deal because Wickesbacking isn't what you would call a metropolis, but I'd only ever seen this area through a bus window on the way home, and most of the time I didn't bother with details through bus windows (because let's face it, fighting through the grime on a bus window is like fitting a horse into a prom dress). Inevitably, after eight minutes of silent mounting panic and being firmly unable to get myself back home at any decent hour at the rate I was going, I headed the most fimiliar direction I'd found thus far.

The street was rather uncreatively named 'Porter Place'; uncreatively because that was obviously somebody's name and I find there are really too many eponyms in the world as it is. This was the street facing the bus on the right side if you were facing forward- which I always am on the ride home- and was therefore the street I knew best in wherever the hell I had landed myself. There were a whopping three kids who got off on this stop, and one of those three lucky candidates lived in a rather conspicuous house on the street.

This kid was about to get a roomie tonight.

-

Riku was his name. Last names be damned, I never use them. He was in two of my classes- Science and History, not that it's particularly relevant, as I never talk to the kid- and unfortunately lived in one of the small number of houses assigned to a bus that was only ever in use half the time. This being said, he ended up riding my bus the other half.

For some reason, his bus- number 81- refuses to be a normal bus and just... you know, not stall every morning and actually drive the same malicious juveniles to and fro everyday. (Imagine that.) There aren't a whole lot of kids who ride that bus anyway, so they always get thrown onto bus 147 (the awesome bus because I'm on it) when that bus doesn't want to fulfill its only mundane purpose.

The first time this happened, Riku was the last one to get on bus 147. Big mistake, folks. Our bus driver is 200 pounds of cranky, and the delay of relocating kids onto our bus was apparently a personal injustice unto him and thus was not happy. Riku, the poor kid, barely got four seats back before the bus jerked forward and he had to grab the seat of one of the chairs before his face made friendly with the floor.

Lucky for him, I sat close by and I sit by myself because my backpack deserves better than dejection on a sticky bus floor. Upon seeing him nearly faceplant into the other half of my seat, I moved my backpack out of the way and he flopped into it with relief that clearly stated 'by God, why is it always me?' and I, in response, automatically felt the need to not care.

Of course, at the very same moment the apathy commenced, a rather obnoxious beeping came from my wrist.

Here I will mention a rather egregious fact: I wear a watch that is probably older than mother and most definitely louder. Embarrassingly, it's a Goofy watch of the toddler variety; the kind where Goofy's gloved hands point to the time, and you are supposed to stop wearing it the minute you turn seven and Hannah Montana is so hot but cartoon characters are so not. That stage struck me the same time it struck everyone else, but seven years old really isn't a very good stage for gaining income. So the watch stayed. And stayed. And apparently I never grew into the stage wherein one finally does gain an income, because nine years after that stage, and here it is still.

Riku at least found it hilarious.

Not that he actually laughed (because, even without knowing Riku, it was pretty glaringly obvious he was the kind who didn't care about these kinds of things anyway, which was fine by me, because I couldn't even be bothered to care that much that the kid had just survived the walk of moving-bus-doom), but he looked at my watch as I struggled with its barely-usable buttons to shut it off.

He examined it for a little and probably noticed all its tiny flaws. The crack in the plastic covering, the worn out belt, the nearly broken state of the lefthand button. Old flipping watch. This was probably the conclusion he drew upon seeing it and probably what furthered his decision to ask me "is it broken?"

For a minute, I didn't really hear the question, though, because his voice just... suffice it to say, my brain had just been hit by a metaphoric rubber band (rubber band being his voice). It was deep, which was surprising in a way because the kid had the long hair of a boy who didn't really care about it and unsurprising in another because he was unfairly muscled up for such a lean kid.

I keep calling him kid in my mind like I'm any older than him.

After the shock of his voice wore off and my brain picked itself up from where it had been flicked to the floor by his rubber-band voice, I looked at him and nodded with a smile pushed to the side of my face. He breathed out through his nose in a single-syllable snort of amusement and informed me of his immense talent in all things clockwork and that he would gladly use his god-like powers to transform my watch into a shining medallion of post-seven-year-old-ness.

Or, as he put it, "I could probably fix it."

Which actually shocked me a good amount due to that it was a pretty random skill, to be able to fix watches. I wasn't about to complain, though, because if he was willing to get close enough to a level of dorkiness achieved only by my antique watch to be able to actually touch it, well, then, good on him.

I glanced at my now-silent watch quickly before smiling my side-squished smile at him and throwing it practically in his face. "Thanks, man," I said, rather embarrased to be handing him such a thing. He didn't really seem to care though. Just smiled at me in a way that did the same thing as his voice and snapped my brain back onto the floor like a rubber band. That had to stop.

We didn't talk after that. I nearly fell asleep until he shifted upwards with his garishly orange backpack and stepped off the bus. Somehow my eyes fought through the grime on the window and I noticed him walk into a house that snapped my nearly-asleep brain onto the floor again. A house shouldn't be able to do that, but this kid-- er, guy-- was apparently unable to be boring. The thing about his house was that it was... vibrant. Most houses are browns and maroons worn way beyond being the correct colour. His house was refreshing blue trims and popping daisies and anemones.

'Someone's mother doesn't work...' my brain snarkily chuckled at me from its place on my mental floor.

I returned to my wrist as our driver from the Black Lagoon slipped back onto its route and realised the lines it left in my skin.

Well... it was going to be weird being timeless for a day.

-

And in way, that's what landed me here. Funny how life will turn you in a karmic circle. You give a guy your only source of awareness to the time, and you end up having to sneak into his house because it's too late to beg for mercy from your mother.

Funny how I find myself in situations like this.

The rubber-band house with blue trim was the third in the row and dark except for two windows. One of them was on the first floor, but further off, and another was on the second floor right in front of me showing off a Fast Times at Ridgemont High poster. I didn't even know they made those. I should watch it sometime.

I figured that was probably Riku's room, and for a minute just stood there being generally airheaded until I saw him move across the room to some space beside the window and for some reason, that's when I got the grand idea to do something about getting inside. He didn't notice me walking back to wherever he had been, which frustrated me a little, because that meant I would have to get his attention.

Walking forward a little, I stepped on a rock that nearly tripped me because my feet are huge. I bent down and picked it up to throw the offending thing at Riku's window. Ha! Take that! Try to topple me, will ya? Oh, hey, there's Riku!

The silver-haired rubber band voice came down surprisingly clearly for how low in volume it was. "What are you doing?" Surprisingly, he didn't seem offended or angry. He sounded like the guy who seated you at a restaurant; not bored yet or frustrated, just asking his obligatory questions. I wondered if he took in strangers off the street often.

"I... can I... Uh." Suddenly the rash confidence I'd had in this plan spat me in the face with its irrationality. Who said this kid was even going to take me in? I didn't know him that much. How many times had I spoken to him? Twice? Three times? There's no guarantee he even liked me at all, let alone cared if I was out cold for the night in some empty field somewhere--

"You need something? Just come on up."

Oh hey. He's really nice. I should date him.

"Thanks." Did I even smile? Jeez, ungrateful, much? Keep up, Sora, he's opening the front door.

He gave me a smile like the guy who seats you in a restaurant when I walked through the door. My eyes found his mother in front of me when I looked off to the side, arms in front of her and fingers loosely put together. She smiled at me beautifully, like it was her job to be beautiful, and welcomed me in.

"I'm Tasha, it's nice to meet you, Sora." Wow, my brain was getting snapped to the floor a lot. These people are so nice. How is it possible to hold that much civility in one household? Wouldn't the walls like, set on fire or something? Or explode? Then again, there were a lot of bright colours outside.

I don't know why this makes any sense to me. Obviously, my brain has hit the floor too many times.

"It's nice to meet you, too, miss," I replied with hopefully as much civility. I was somehow feeling slightly inferior in my people skills in their faces. In any case, I apparently did fine, because she smiled and asked me if I would be staying over for the night. I had a feeling Riku put up a lot of strangers off the street at this point.

"Um..." I glanced to Riku for affirmation of whether or not this was okay, and at the same time something dawned on his mothers face and she amended herself with "Oh! Never mind, just tell me if you need a ride." And of course, that sent my brain to the floor.

Riku saved me from having to respond with anything further than 'mnnnmn' and informed his mother I would be staying over. Which was such total score, even in my mostly brainless state, because I didn't even have to do any dirty work. This family really is quite cool. I should marry into it.

-

"You smell like smoke," he told me when I was rooting through my backpack on the floor of his room. It suddenly hit me his mother had probably smelt it too and once again I realised how nice they were for letting me stay overnight anyway.

"Oh... yeah. Sorry. I would take a shower, but it's really my clothes that smell anyway, so..." God, why was I so bad at talking?

"Yeah, it's alright. Just, never mind."

I felt guilty now, because it's not even like I smoke. I really should've thought this through before I came here. Oh well, I had a bed for the night, and... I still needed to call my mother. Crap, I am really thick.

Now, despite my watch being an absolute joke on humanity, my cellphone is pretty badass. It's got tons of cool features and I have awesome texting plans that make it way too easy to get in trouble, which suits me just fine, and my camera absolutely owns any digital piece of crap I've had before. (Oh dear God, I sound like a commercial. Let's just skip to the conversation.)

"Hey mum?"

She sounded surprised to be hearing from me. "Sora? Where are you?"

"At a friend's house, sorry. Totally forgot to tell you."

"Well, okay... as long as you get to school tomorrow." Pffft. She says that like I'm some kind of delinquent.

"Of course, mum. His bus is on my stop, too."

"...alright. Love you, honey."

"You too. Bye."

I didn't really wait for her to respond before I hung up and heard Riku snickering under his breath on his bed. I looked up to find him looking at the inside of my watch (oh wow, he took the cover off, he's actually looking INSIDE it). I furrowed my brows and asked him, not angrily, "What?"

"Nice excuse," is what he replied. I shrugged my shoulders in a silent laugh.

Then he threw my watch at my lap. Ow, nice throw, now my thigh is stinging thanks to your poorly aimed use of my watch belt. I picked it up to find the cover back on and decided to nearly break it again in the process of fiddling around with it to make sure everything was in working order. Then again, I had no clue what working order was so I trusted him anyway.

"You're welcome," he said playfully.

I snorted under my breath again when I returned it to my wrist. He looked at me for a small moment when I rifled back through my backpack and finally asked, "Why don't you just get a new one?"

"I don't have the money," I informed him automatically without looking up. At first, I didn't hear anything until he moved and I heard fabric shifted as he- I assumed- got off the bed and surprised me by sitting down next to me, leaning against the end of his bed and watching me rummage through the mountains of useless sheets stuffed into my bag. I need to learn to organise.

"Why did you come here?" he asked me, breaking the momentary silence in which I grew inch by inch more frustrated with the mounds of garbage loaded into my backpack.

"Cause..." did I really know? He was just the closest I could find. That's not very flattering. He still doesn't sound angry. Jeez, I should at least answer the question. Damnit, brain, get yourself in order. And straighten out these papers, while you're at it. "...I knew where you lived, and I got lost and..."

By this point I had looked up at him, and I realised he was staring kind of more at my ears than my actual face, looking like if I didn't resume talking, he would just zoom off someplace far away and that would be the end of this conversation forever. For some reason, that was a good look on him: barely paying attention.

I liked getting to know his faces like this.

His eyesight flickered over to me again and noticed my eyes on him and looked a little like he was just getting used to me now. It was weird, seeing someone this up close and noticing this much. It's probably a skill I should learn (I'm not close with a lot of people, sociable as I am), why not start with him? He was pretty cool and his mother doesn't hate me for smelling like a smoker. He, I deemed, should be my first... ugh, what a girl I am... 'best friend'.

Let's try it.

"Do you hate me now?" I asked, rather uncharacteristically. He shrugged the shoulder on which his weight was less dependant and nodded in the negative. He looked amused by this question (an expression I was seeing a good amount of) and scooted in closer and across from me, so I was now looking him straight in the eyes.

"How'd you get lost?"

This was the first way in which I won him over.


End file.
